


fancy dress

by MegaBadBunny



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: DW Femslash, F/F, Femandchips, Femslash, Femslash February, Ficandchips, Fluff and Smut, Light BDSM, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, like...so light it's practically invisible lolol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 07:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13759038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegaBadBunny/pseuds/MegaBadBunny
Summary: “Patience,” hums the Doctor. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that good things come to those who wait?”





	fancy dress

_I’ve made a huge mistake_ , she thinks upon seeing Rose’s face.

“But anyhoo,” the Doctor continues with a cheerfulness that’ll rapidly devolve into something manic if she’s not careful, “you made it look fun, the whole fancy dress bit, and well, you know me, _fun’s_ sort of the middle name...”

Wide in disbelief, Rose’s eyes travel over the Doctor, her mouth closed, exposing not even a tiny hint of her usual megawatt grin or flirtatiously-peeking tongue. The Doctor feels oddly exposed under her gaze, for all that she’s covered up. More covered up than usual, even, in her old tatty brown pinstripe suit and silk tie and an oxford buttoned to the collar. It all still fits surprisingly well, several regenerations and a whole new gender later. And it’s still perfect for fidgeting in, as the Doctor is rediscovering right about now.

(What was she thinking, putting this old thing back on? Rose may be more understanding and far more adaptable than most humans, but even she’s got her limits; even she doesn’t want to be reminded of just how much things have changed, just what she’s lost.)

Nervously scratching the back of her neck—blimey, she hasn’t done that in a while, probably not since the last time she wore this suit—the Doctor clears her throat. “So,” she starts, confident as ever, “did you have that dress in mind for any particular destination, or—”

The rest of her sentence is muffled by Rose’s mouth pressed against hers. _Hard_.

The Doctor barely has time to close her eyes and return the kiss before Rose pulls back, licking her lips. And she must have the universe’s silliest, dopiest look on her face, because suddenly ( _finally_ ) Rose is grinning at her, smiling _that_ smile, yes, _that_ one, the cat-that-got-the-cream, the-Rose-that-flustered-the-Doctor smile.

“Sorry,” Rose breathes; she’s still so close that her breath warms the Doctor’s lips. “You just—erm. It’s a good look. The suit.”

The corners of the Doctor’s mouth quirk upward in a shy grin. “Yeah?”

Rose nods, and now the Doctor notices just how wide her pupils have blown, how peony-pink her cheeks have flushed. “Yeah.”

“Brilliant,” the Doctor sighs, as Rose pulls her in by the necktie for another kiss.

It’s _fascinating_ , how some things feel so different in this new body, while others feel exactly the same. The kiss, for example—still warm, wet, sweet. She can still taste all of the components of Rose’s lipgloss, catalogue each and every one of them as she deepens the kiss, her tongue sweeping across the seam of Rose’s lips. When Rose draws her lower lip between her teeth, nipping until it hurts _just right_ , the Doctor still hums at the rush of adrenaline that surges through her, still feels her hearts speed to a gallop. And arousal is still familiar enough, still that warm and needy surge blossoming between her legs as Rose’s fingers fly down to her waistband, deftly slipping the trouser-button free.

The Doctor smiles against Rose’s mouth. One thing that’s different, she has discovered? Now she has infinitely more _patience_.

Her hands slip down to Rose’s hips, guiding her backward until her rump hits the vanity. With a little hop, Rose situates herself atop the desk, immediately leaning forward to capture the Doctor’s lips with hers once again. A hand on each knee, the Doctor spreads Rose’s legs wide, stepping between them. Gathering the heavy silk of Rose’s skirt, her hands slip beneath, gliding over Rose’s smooth, taut legs. She cups Rose by the arse and drags her forward so that their bodies press flush together.

Rose breaks the kiss with a chuckle. “Well, then,” she says, legs wrapping around the Doctor’s hips. “Now that I’ve got you, whatever will I do with you?”

“Mmm,” says the Doctor thoughtfully, pretending to consider as she squeezes Rose’s arse. It’s always been rather a perfect rump, she thinks, the ideal balance between firm and plush, but it just fits so _marvelously_ in her hands, now. “Have you got me, or have I got you?”

Rose’s fingers walk a path up the Doctor’s chest, pausing only to slip loose the knot at the top of her necktie. “I think we both know the answer to that,” she whispers hotly in the Doctor’s ear.

Shivers travel up and down the Doctor’s spine at that, and she has every intention of responding with something impressive, but Rose has already threaded the necktie out from beneath her collar and gotten started on her oxford buttons. Clever fingers peel the shirt open in a matter of seconds and now Rose is pulling the tee shirt free from the Doctor’s waistband so she can push her hands beneath, cupping the Doctor’s breasts.

Biting back a groan at the delicious friction, the Doctor circles her thumbs over Rose’s bum, searching for the elastic of her pants—only to meet nothing but hot, damp flesh, instead.

“Naughty thing, aren’t you,” the Doctor says under her breath, pushing her hand between Rose’s legs so she can tease her with featherlight touches. “Were you thinking about this when you came in here?”

Laughing, Rose kisses the Doctor again, fiercely, a hot and wet thing that would make a lesser woman go weak in the knees. “Aww, darling,” she murmurs, shifting to plant a kiss on the Doctor’s jaw, on her neck. “I’m always thinking about this.”

“Good,” says the Doctor breathlessly.

Removing a hand from Rose’s skirt, the Doctor yanks down the neckline of her dress, freeing her breasts. Her nipples swell in reply, stark plum-pink against white, berries atop perfect twin whipped-cream peaks, and the Doctor falls to her knees, steadying Rose with a hand at the small of her back while she closes her lips around a nipple. Rose gasps in surprise and her legs clench around the Doctor as she laves her nipple, teasing it to almost painful attention. The Doctor gives her breast a good suck, pushing a finger deep inside between Rose’s legs, and Rose chokes out a cry, hands flying up to tangle in the Doctor’s hair. Her muscles contract around the Doctor’s finger, drawing it deeper in, and the Doctor remembers how it felt, thrusting into her, feeling her tighten, feeling her muscles flutter and clench, and gods, just _thinking_ about it is enough to send tendrils of warmth shooting down between her legs, leaving her ridiculously wet and aching.

Panting, the Doctor parts from Rose with a wet _pop_ , silently revels in the flush that has crept across Rose’s breasts and up her throat to her well-kissed lips. Rose’s eyes have shuttered closed, her teeth sinking into her lower lip while her hips buck against the Doctor’s hand, and gods, she’s gorgeous. The Doctor rewards her with a press of her mouth to Rose’s other breast, neglected for the last few moments but delightfully responsive now, the nipple peaking sharply beneath her tongue, and suddenly the Doctor is struck with _need_.

Rose whines in frustration as the Doctor’s hand stills between her legs. “Dirty _tease_ ,” she bites out, but the Doctor just laughs, pushing Rose’s skirt slowly up her thighs.

“Patience,” hums the Doctor. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that good things come to those who wait?”

“Didn’t anyone tell you that those made to wait might come by themselves?” Rose retorts, even as her eyes flutter shut when the Doctor plants a kiss above her knee, on her inner thigh, higher. She’s not half-tempted to quip out something about making it worth her while, but decides to go easy on her, burrows between Rose’s legs and kisses her clit.

With a bitten-back moan, Rose arches off the vanity, grabbing the edge of the desk with both hands. The Doctor teases her with her lips and tongue, coaxing her higher and higher until Rose is panting for breath, her thighs tense and quivering around the Doctor’s head while her hips buck against her face. The Doctor looks up to see Rose’s eyes clenched, her teeth biting into her lower lip until it glows white from the pressure. Her breasts bounce with the force of her rutting and gods but that only makes the Doctor even wetter.

“Touch yourself,” the Doctor whispers against Rose’s thigh, and Rose immediately obeys, reaching up to cup her nipples. The Doctor rewards her with a hard suck to her clit and Rose cries out.

The Doctor loves seeing Rose like this, flushed and wanton and high-strung and completely at her mercy; she loves the final crescendo even more. She slides two fingers alongside her mouth and fucks Rose with her digits and her tongue, thrusting slickly inside as Rose pants and cries out above her. Eventually Rose’s hands abandon her breasts in favor of flying down to the Doctor’s head—their pressure is soft, undemanding, and the Doctor knows that it’s just Rose needing to touch her, needing to feel her as much as possible right now, because she’s so close, her muscles are clenching and contracting, her eyes are screwed shut in almost-pain and the Doctor’s mouth floods with slickness and she’s fluttering around the Doctor’s fingers and tongue and crying out the Doctor’s name and—

“Fuck,” Rose grits out as her orgasm slowly subsides, drawing back in waves. She slumps back against the vanity, breasts and thighs glistening with sweat, and she pushes a damp strand of hair out of her face. “Fuck, Doctor,” she pants.

The Doctor smirks up at her. “That _was_ the idea.”

With a dry chuckle, Rose sits up from the vanity, wincing as sweat-dappled skin parts from the mirror behind her. Motions altogether too graceful for someone who just received what the Doctor can only assume was quite the mind-blowing orgasm, if she says so herself (and she does, in fact, say so), Rose slides off the edge of the desk and onto the floor. She slips the gown off overhead and, now completely naked, settles fully into the Doctor’s lap, looping her arms round her neck. Pressing a kiss to the Doctor’s mouth, she hums in appreciation at her taste on the Doctor’s lips.

“Let’s see, now,” she murmurs between kisses, her hands wandering down the Doctor’s chest. “Where was I, before I was interrupted?”

“Oh, not rudely interrupted, I hope?” the Doctor asks with a grin.

Rose pulls back just enough to offer the Doctor a stern look, but her eyes twinkle with mischief. “ _Very_ rudely,” she says. “With your hands up my skirt—”

“I was merely checking your temperature.”

“—and on my breasts,” Rose continues, squeezing the Doctor’s breasts even as she narrates.

“Checking for lumps,” the Doctor insists with a sigh.

“—and your mouth between my legs,” Rose replies, her hand sliding between them to trace the center seam of the Doctor’s trousers. The Doctor fights to keep her eyes open but she’s already so far gone that the pressure of Rose’s hand between her legs sets her nerves on fire, makes her bite back a whimper.

“Who’s a dirty tease now?” she half-laughs, and the grin Rose offers her is absolutely _filthy_.

Rose pushes at the Doctor’s shoulders and in a jumble of limbs suddenly the Doctor is flat on her back on the floor, Rose straddling her thighs as she lowers the zip on her trousers, inch by agonizing inch. She insinuates one hand in the Doctor’s knickers and leans forward so she can capture the Doctor’s lips in a kiss while her fingers tease her below.

“What did you think about,” Rose asks, her voice husky against the Doctor’s mouth, “when you wore this suit? What did you think about me?”

Her fingers circle ever-closer to where the Doctor wants her and the Doctor arches up into her touch, desperate for the pressure. “I—I loved you,” she grits out.

With a sweet smile, Rose kisses her again, kisses her throat, sucks on it until the Doctor can _feel_ the bruise forming beneath. “What else?” she asks, after, soothing the bruise with her tongue.

“I wanted you,” the Doctor confesses (as if it needs saying, but sometimes it seems that Rose still needs to hear it). “And I knew you--ah--you wanted me.”

“God, did I ever,” Rose laughs into her skin.

“And you still do?” the Doctor pants (because Rose isn’t the only one who _needs_ ).

Rose draws back just far enough to nod, her hair falling in sheets against the Doctor’s cheek. “Of course I do,” she says. “Don’t be daft.”

The Doctor smiles, and she doesn’t want it to be tender, doesn’t want to sully the moment with saccharine over-sentimentality, but here she is, all soft around the edges, hearts swelling with something that feels suspiciously like contentment. “What should I be, then?” she asks.

With a positively catlike grin, Rose procures the necktie from its place on the floor. She pushes up on her knees just long enough to pull the Doctor’s hands over her head, looping the necktie around her wrists. Her bare breasts brush against the Doctor’s chest as she moves and _gods_ does the Doctor ever want to tear all these damn layers off, wants to feel Rose’s skin against hers so badly she could scream, but Rose has looped the necktie beneath the leg of some blasted piece of heavy furniture and it looks like the Doctor won’t be capable of removing her clothing for a while, or doing or feeling much of anything for that matter--not unless Rose makes it happen. She’s completely helpless, trussed and trapped between Rose’s thighs, and she’s surprised by how much she likes it, how easy it is to relax, to abandon those still-lingering constraints, with Rose in complete control.

Rose’s lips brush the shell of her ear, her breath warm and damp and full of promise.

“ _Patient_ ,” she whispers.


End file.
